Chapter 43
St. Nabor Island, South Carolina
“Are you breaking up with me?” Angela asked. She was sitting on the deck at Randy’s apartment. She’d shown up, unannounced, a few minutes earlier, giddy to tell him about the messages she’d gotten. He hadn’t seemed happy to see her. Then he’d had her sit down and had started talking, and now she couldn’t make sense of what he was saying.
“No, but, can’t we take it slow? I mean, this is all so intense,” he said.
Whose fault is that? she wanted to say. Whose idea was it to keep going back to the house for investigation after investigation? Yes, it was intense, but if it had been up to her, she’d have dropped the whole ghost-investigation thing after the first one. She could have found all the answers she needed without delving into any more paranormal activity.
“Look, you’re going through a lot right now,” he said. His eyes looked tired and sad. “This isn’t the right time to start a relationship.”
“So you’re really breaking up with me.” She couldn’t believe it.
“I need time to think, okay? I think we both need some space to figure things out.”
But Angela didn’t want time or space. Without Randy, she had nobody here. Without Randy, what was she doing on St. Nabor? She suddenly missed her friends. She needed her friends, and it was obvious to her now that Randy was right. They were being too intense. She’d been turning to him for all the support she felt she hadn’t gotten from her friends. She’d only known him a few weeks (not counting the fact that they’d gone to grade school together, because that really did not count), and she was clinging to him and relying on him for everything. She didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. Under any sort of normal circumstances, she would want to take things slower, too. She stood up.
“You don’t have to go,” he said. He looked miserable.
“I think I do.”
Part Five
Chapter 44
Weldon, Maine
Casey had to hand it him. When Brett made up his mind, he really knew how to get things done. The Monday after first showing Casey the storefront, after she impulsively told him to go for it, he had negotiated a lease agreement and they had signed and officially become business partners. The man was sexy in action—setting up a bank account, filing paperwork to incorporate, applying for whatever kinds of licenses they needed to open a café—all kinds of things Casey knew not the first thing about. All she had to do was walk up and down the aisles of the home improvement store, making decisions about paint colors and fixtures.
He had left Wednesday afternoon, though, back to California to take care of things there, and he wasn’t certain how soon he’d be able to get back. No later than Halloween, he had promised. He promised he’d be back for the last hoorah at the Wild Rose Inn for Halloween Haunting Fest. He gave her daily, sometimes thrice daily, updates on his progress by phone.
He hadn’t succeeded in getting her to cave in and get a smartphone (or a tablet, or a computer—he had tried and failed). He wanted to be able to Skype and see her face every day, but she had convinced him that there was more old-fashioned romance in relying on phone calls, and maybe even snail mail. He’d taken her up on the latter. In three weeks, she’d gotten eight handwritten letters. He had sent the first one from the airport.
He had tried to convince her to go with him, drive back across the country together, but there was so much to do here. It was a good thing she hadn’t gone with him. They’d never be ready for their target opening day if she had. As of last night, he was still in LA, still sorting out the sale of his condo, he said, but it was October 24, and Casey was starting to panic. The only thing that could keep her calm was working, so every day from the minute she woke up until she dropped asleep exhausted at night, she was working on getting the new café ready. Painting, cleaning, planning, shopping. It kept her from thinking.
Tomorrow, though, she had to get back to Devil’s Back to open the Beach Plum for the Halloween spectacular Rosetta was throwing. After Sweet Water backed out, she had gotten to work. If this was the end of the line for the Wild Rose, she was going out with a bang. She’d gone into marketing overdrive, contacting practically everyone who had ever stayed at the inn to let them know that this was it, the last rodeo before old Rosetta rode into the sunset. She’d managed to pack the place. No vacancies. The festivities would start Friday and go through November 1 and then everyone would go home and she’d close the inn forever.
Casey was glad there would be enough customers to keep her busy for the week because otherwise the occasion would be too sad. This was it. The end of the best era of her life so far. Her years at the Beach Plum Café had transformed her into someone she never knew she could be, and she had Rosetta to thank. She didn’t want to leave her beautiful island, and yet, every day at the new café, which they had decided to call The Perk, but which Casey could not think of as anything other than “the new café,” she felt excited. She was doing this. While she wasn’t on her own, Brett was her partner fifty-fifty on the whole thing, she felt strong and independent. This wasn’t Rosetta swooping in, saving the day, and calling the shots. Now Casey really was her own boss, and she thought she and Brett could make the café a success.
They had decided to set up a take-out counter with a bakery display case right up front, and to have a little area to sell knick-knacks and crafts. That was Brett’s idea. Even from the other side of the country, he was making phone calls and reaching out to people, lining up local crafters who might want to sell things there, with the idea that they would send their friends in to see their goods, and that would bring more business.
The new kitchen equipment had been delivered earlier in the week and the place was starting to shape up. Casey had spent the better part of the week lamenting the state of the ceiling. What idiot had painted it that hideous color? There was no stripping it, no chance of restoring it. She’d never get that glowing shade out of the details of the pattern on the tin. The only option was to paint over it. After that, the other work was easy if time-consuming. She had given the walls a nice coat of a fresh latte-colored paint and washed the windows. She had redone the floor—all by herself—with click-together linoleum tiles, a classic checkerboard pattern, but with chocolaty brown and beige squares, not black and white.
For furniture they’d decided on artfully mismatched pieces, so she’d scoured local flea markets and Goodwill stores buying tables and chairs, which she brought back and painted to match the coffee colors of the café. She was actually running out of things to do at this point. Brett had suggested she use her free time to try out some new recipes and get the menu ready, but who would eat what she baked? Besides, she didn’t need new recipes.
They were planning to open the weekend before Thanksgiving and be in full swing in time for the little town’s holiday festivities, especially the Buy Local Saturdays in December. Brett might never have run a restaurant before, but he definitely had good ideas about timing and attracting customers. He was already scheduling musical groups to play on weekends. He also said they’d use the Halloween festivities on Devil’s Back to spread the word, handing out flyers and coupons.
She was sitting at one of the tables near the front, trying to catch some of the thin late-October daylight and sketching out designs for the new chalkboard menu when the door opened with a jingle of bells. She looked up with a start—she wasn’t expecting anyone—and there was Brett, a massive bouquet in his hands, grinning like he’d won the lottery.
Casey was on her feet and in his arms in seconds. She didn’t give him a chance to even set the flowers down. She could feel the blossoms tickling her scalp as he embraced her. She pressed her face into his chest and squeezed him close and was shocked to realize there were tears in her eyes. She had missed him more than she had dared to admit.
“Now see, if you’d let me get you a smartphone, you could have had one of those apps that let you see exactly where I was the whole time I was drivin
g back here and—”
Casey shut him up with a kiss.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said. If having a smartphone meant living in a world where she didn’t get surprises like this, then she had made the right decision in resisting.
He set the flowers on a table and kissed her again. Weeks of nervous anticipation, weeks during which she had nearly convinced herself that he wasn’t ever coming back, that despite his investment, despite their partnership, any minute he was going to call and say it was all a mistake—and now here he was. She kissed him with hungry desire, and when at last they pulled away from one another, she said, “Go lock the door.”
His silly grin was replaced by a knowing smile and he happily complied, locking the door and following her into the kitchen, where she made love to him like he was a soldier home from war.
“That,” he said, when they were spent, “was a hell of a welcome.”
“You’re not allowed to go away like that again for a long time,” Casey said.
***
They got Chinese take-out and walked back to the little apartment Casey had rented a few blocks from The Perk. Weldon was a nice little place with an old-fashioned Main Street and a lot of small-town charm. Thanks to the tidal river that formed the town’s northern border, it had long been a center of shipbuilding. Most of that industry was gone now, but it had been replaced by a museum commemorating Maine’s maritime history, and that drew in tourists who, Brett knew, were going to love The Perk. It was also close to beaches, so there were always people passing through, picking up goodies for beach picnics. They were going to adore Casey’s baking.
“Welcome to the servant’s quarters,” Casey said, as she led Brett up the narrow back stairs from the side porch up to her place.
It was the third floor of an old Victorian that had been converted into apartments, and likely the top floor really had once been servants’ quarters. The walls sloped under the mansard roof and the window sills were only inches from the floor. Just a galley kitchen, a teeny-tiny bathroom, a small living room, and a little bedroom with a laughably small closet.
While Casey set out the food and some paper plates, Brett picked his way through the place stepping over all her unpacked boxes, checking it out. He came back a moment later and gave a thumbs up.
“It’s small,” Casey said, spooning lo mein onto her plate. She seemed shy and self-conscious, which Brett found adorable, given the steamy greeting she’d offered back at the café.
“It’s so New England. It’s great,” Brett said. It was the opposite in every way of the condo he’d sold back in California, and he loved it.
“It’s probably nothing like what you’re used to,” Casey said, stepping over boxes to take her plate to the living room. Brett hastily scooped some food onto a plate and followed her to the futon, the one box-free space in the living room.
“You forget, I grew up in upstate New York. I always loved the rambling old houses.”
They hadn’t actually discussed living arrangements, and Brett worried that perhaps he’d overstepped a boundary by speaking as if the apartment was to be his, too. He hadn’t intended to be so presumptuous. The fact was, in the rush to move his life forward, he hadn’t given any thought at all to where he’d live once he got back here. He watched as Casey took a bite of her food and set the plate down on a nearby box. She leaned back against the futon cushion and closed her eyes, and Brett wondered how badly he’d screwed up with his casual comment. He knew she scared easily. He knew he had to tread carefully.
“Hey,” he said, setting down his own plate and placing a hand on her arm. “You okay?”
She opened her eyes and tipped her head to look at him. Then she smiled. “I can’t believe you’re here. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since you left.”
He moved over and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. She wasn’t mad. She was content. He almost laughed at himself for his own overactive nerves.
“We are crazy, right?” she asked.
“Oh yeah, for sure.”
They snuggled like that for a minute and then Casey sat up, revived, and picked up her food again. As they ate, she updated him on all that she’d done at the café. He couldn’t even believe it. She was a DIY wonder. He couldn’t have done half of what she had done. He wouldn’t even know how.
“I got some stuff done, too,” Brett said when she’d run through her list of accomplishments. “I set up a website, Twitter feed, Facebook page, and once I can get in there and take some pictures, I’ll set up Instagram, too.”
Casey’s face darkened as he spoke.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to make you use any of it. I’ll handle it.”
He got up to refill his plate and when he came back, he found her still scowling.
“Come on, don’t be like that,” he said, sighing. “This is good business.”
“I didn’t have to do any of it at the Beach Plum.”
“No, but you had a captive audience on the island. Here people have choices and we want them to choose us.”
Casey chewed in silence and Brett let her think this over. He knew this was going to be a point of contention, but he also knew that he was right and she’d come around. After a few minutes, he said, “You know, back when we first met, I tried to check you out online.”
She gave him an amused look. “Oh yeah? Did you find me?”
“Nope. Not a trace. As far as the Internet is concerned, you do not exist.”
This fact had been nagging at him since the day they’d signed the lease on the café. He felt like he knew her. He believed, as cheesy as it sounded, that they were soul mates, and yet, as they had signed the lease together, he couldn’t help but consider the fact that he hardly knew a thing about her. When she had to tell him her legal name for all the paperwork, he could see her hesitation. She was ready to back out to avoid revealing her true name. He’d had to swear that he’d keep it secret before she finally told him: Cara-Jayne Seaver. That evening he’d searched the Internet for Cara-Jayne Seaver, as he had searched for Casey Jones of the Beach Plum Café back in September. Again, he found nothing. At that moment, when he had looked at her name spelled out on paper—a pretty name, a name that was unique, just as she was—he felt afraid. What if she wasn’t who she said she was? What if this, too, was a lie? On a personal level, in terms of his feelings for her, he didn’t think it mattered. But in terms of business, it definitely mattered.
“How is it even possible for a person to be invisible online in this day and age?” Brett asked.
“I made a choice. I want to live in the real world,” Casey said, as if it were that simple.
“Okay, but I have to say, it’s pretty weird. I mean, are you in the witness protection program or something? Are you some kind of secret agent?” He was only half-joking. These were possibilities that actually crossed his mind when he tried to comprehend the fact that she had no cyber-presence and lived under an assumed name on a remote island.
She laughed and shook her head. “Why be normal?”
Brett felt slightly panicked by her evasions. “Casey, be serious for a minute. I really need you to explain this to me.”
She sighed and curled her knees up to her chest. She rested her chin on her knees and looked at him and her eyes held no trace of laughter.
He put his hand on her feet and said, “Please tell me. Whatever it is, just tell me.”
“I already told you.”
He didn’t know what she meant. She had never told him why she hated the Internet so much. She had said she didn’t have any Wi-Fi at the café because she wanted people to relax there, but that didn’t explain her overall aversion.
“It’s like, when something is too tempting and the only option is to avoid it altogether,” Casey said. “Like how a recovering alcoholic can’t even be a social drinker.”
“So you were addicted to the Internet?”
“No. I never really had the Internet. I me
an, people were only starting to get dial-up connections when I was in high school, and then I dropped out, and I never went to college, and I just never had a need to use it.”
This all made sense, but it also didn’t make sense. She was too young and too smart to be a total Luddite. So she hadn’t grown up with the Internet. Everyone around her had smartphones. They had access to the World Wide Web in their hands every minute of the day. She couldn’t be immune to that influence.
“I know what would happen if I went online,” she said.
“I’m not following you.”
“Please don’t make me spell it out,” Casey said. She bit her fingernail and avoided looking at him.
“I only don’t get what you think would happen.”
“I know what would happen. I would find my—my—” She stopped and rubbed eyes, shaking her head.
He waited for her to continue.
“I told you,” she said. “I had a baby, a long time ago.”
Brett struggled to connect the dots. Of course he remembered what she had told him about giving up her baby for adoption as a teenager. “But you said it was all private and you gave up all your rights.”
She got up and got a roll of paper towels. She tore one off and used it as a tissue. “I don’t want to talk about this,” she said as she struggled to compose herself.
Brett reached out to embrace her, but she slid further away from him. “Casey, please. You can tell me. There’s nothing you can say that will change the way I feel about you, certainly nothing from when you were only a kid. It’s okay. I love you.”
She sniffled and shook her head.
“Please. I want to understand. I want to understand everything about you.” It was torture to see her beat herself up over something that happened twenty years before.
What She Inherits Page 28